Higher Powers
by wevegotobsessions
Summary: Hanlock fic - Post Reichenbach, Pre Savoureux. A murder has taken place and it will take the minds of Will Graham and Sherlock Holmes to solve it. But how will everyone fare when a new arrival shakes it all up?
1. Chapter 1

_Hi! This is just a little note to say this is my first fic ever and I'm not sure how it's gonna turn out. I'm thinking of updating it every-so-often, so let me know if there are certain situations you want to see. Also, I'm not really sure where it's meant to be set, because I thought having Will and Hannibal over from America would make it quite obvious that Hannibal was the Ripper, so it's a kind of scene-switch. That's all! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, THANKS :D_

Shrouded in smoke, Sherlock Holmes sat in his leather chair, hands poised in a steeple shape under his chin. So deep in thought, he had neglected his cigarette, slowly dwindling in the ashtray beside him. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. His eyes flung open, but his body stayed relaxed.  
'Enter.' he said, through half-open lips. He heard clumsy steps stumbling to the door of his front room. The guest cracked the door slightly, coughed, then opened it all the way. Sunlight crept in through the window on the landing.  
Attempting to shield his eyes, Sherlock stumped out his cigarette.

'Special Agent Graham. You said you wouldn't be long.'  
Silently trying to snatch some unpolluted air, Will took a few steps further into the room.  
'I got caught up with Jack. This case isn't going to go away quickly.'  
Sherlock sighed.  
'Minds such as ours, and even we're stumped.' he said lazily, getting up. 'Until now.' he had a sudden excitement and vigour in his voice. Will thought it odd how he could change so quickly.  
'Can we catch a cab to the crime scene?' Slightly taken aback by the question, Will nodded shakily.  
'It's about a ten-minute drive.'  
'And have you been?'  
'Not yet. Jack said I should see you first.'  
'And your friend, Doctor Lecter...is he coming?'  
Embarrassed, Will shuffled on the spot.  
'He's my psychiatrist. I don't need him.' he lied. Technically, Will wasn't Hannibal's patient, but he wasn't about to admit his feeble friendship to one of the most brilliant minds in all the world.  
'Very well. I'll call John.' Will grimaced.  
'John?'  
'Yes, he solves the crimes with me. Quite discerning, actually.'  
Will considered this. Sherlock watched his green pupils dance in their sockets.  
'Maybe Doctor Lecter could come too. To help out.' Sherlock smiled.  
'Very well then. Now, come, the game is afoot!'


	2. Chapter 2

All collected and mentally prepared for what lay ahead, the team of four assembled in the taxi that Sherlock hailed outside the flat. Doctor Lecter and Will sat opposite John and Sherlock.

'So what do we know about this case so far then?' John asked, sarcastic undertones evident in his enthusiasm. He must've been dragged to every sort of untoward incident by his companion. Still, his unhidden excitement suggested he enjoyed it very much.  
'A woman was slaughtered. Organs were removed.' Hannibal interjected, sensing Will's stirring at the question.  
'It's great to be working with you, Mr Graham. I've heard great things.' The population of a group of four caused a great anxiety in Will. He smiled politely, but forcibly.  
'What I do, it's...it's no different to what Mr Holmes does.' he said, gesturing to the man whose face was obscured by his high coat collar. He chose not to aknowledge the comment.  
'Together you are sure to make a great team. Hopefully, we can find this killer before he strikes again.' Doctor Lecter says, sincerity holding in his voice.  
Straining his neck to look through the wind screen, John scanned the surroundings.  
'I think this is it.' he called to the cab driver. The car broke gently and eased itself into the crime scene. A body was hung on a crucifix, incisions made where his organs would have been. The colour drained from the driver's face. Hurriedly, John paid him. He drove off slightly faster than he'd driven in.  
'We really ought to sort you out some transport of your own.' the voice of Lestrade spoke from behind them. John and Sherlock turned.  
'I don't need your charity, Lestrade.'  
'I wasn't suggesting it for free.' he said, handing the two latex gloves. They approached the body, while Jack saw Will and Hannibal.

'How is he?'Jack asked, glancing over at the tail of Sherlock's magnificent coat. Will grimaced.  
'Alternative.'  
'Somewhat arrogant.' Doctor Lecter said. Already, he viewed Sherlock as competition and was keen to demean him.  
Jack laughed. 'That's what I heard. But the guy is good.' he turned to Will. 'With you and him on this case, we should be able to catch the Chesapeake Ripper this time.' Hannibal nodded politely. Oh, what fools they were...  
Jack lead them to the two. By the perplexed look on John's face, Will could tell Sherlock had already figured out something.  
'Ah, Jack.' John shook his hand firmly. Sherlock glanced at him breifly, then back to the scene.  
'What have we got so far then?'  
'Ripper victim. Early thirties. Professional, going by her attire. No sign of any breifcase or other documentation. So she's a doctor or nurse or optician.' he kneels down and picks up a pair of glasses. 'Found these in her bag. Very expensive, very exclusive. Optician's looking more likely.' Jack checked the files he had held under one arm.  
'Yep. Rachel Leveson. 31. Been an optician at that branch in town for almost 3 years.' Sherlock smirked.  
'She was summoned here. Unlikely she'd be out at such a place. Her phone,' he picks up a phone from the same bag, 'is hardly touched. It's an older model and it's barely been used. Suggests she kept herself to herself whenever she could help it.' he took a fleeting look around the rest of the scene, outlined in yellow tape. 'No car or other method of transport. The nearest train station is about 2 minutes away. Maybe she ended up here on an extra stop from her way home from work.'  
'Why did she come?' Jack asked, intrigued. Sherlock flicked up the home screen on her phone. A picture of several cats flashed up. 'She had a family, or at least a husband.' he said, pointing to her wedding-ring clad finger. 'Normally, people have a family photo, but no. Mrs Leveson was an animal lover. From the quality of the photo, it suggests it was taken with her phone, rather than pulled off the internet. This means that they're her own cats, and she has at least four.' he took a breath. 'I think it's possible that she was lured here by the sound of a distressed animal.' Turning his back on the four, he continued. 'Upon hearing the sound as she left the train, a sound that many others would ignore, she went to help and that's when the Ripper struck.'

Hannibal looked upon this man uneasily. He'd never been at a crime scene of his own making, let alone had his actions deduced, as if they were simply written underneath where she was suspended.  
'The killer...he must've known her in some sort of way. I doubt very intimately. Maybe a patient, versed in the art of small talk. Enough to gain the knowledge that she loved animals and was religious.' he gestured up to the crucifix. It was makeshift; probably put together after she was captured. Two planks of wood were nailed together. They looked like any other you could pick up from the site. It was littered with them.  
'The crucifiction wasn't planned.' said Will, focusing wholly on the woman.  
'Well, obviously it wasn't pre-me-'  
'He didn't know she was religious. It was a decision he took in that moment.' Suddenly, the scene went black. Out of the dimness, he could see Jack ushering the others away to the side. A silver pendulum swung across Will's field of vision. The women fell from the crucifix. She sat struggling, gagged and bound. The wooden planks were dissassembled and lay on the floor beside her. He strode up to her.  
'I take Mrs Leveson quickly. I don't knock her out or attempt to subdue her. I want her fully aware of what is going to happen. I harbour a grudge.' Will took hold of her neck, his face fuelled by fury. She winced. 'I become reckless with my own power. I rip off her gag.' he tore the duct tape from her mouth. Too afraid to scream, she panted helplessly.  
'Any last words?' Will seethed. Disgust darted in his eyes. Whether this was the killer's disgust or his own, he swore he'd never know. The woman began to sob.  
'Please, God, save me.' Surprisingly enraged at her words, Will taped her mouth shut again and threw her to the floor.  
'I take the wood and some nails I find. I build your demise.' he looked straight at Mrs Leveson. 'I want you to know that your God is gone. Your God has abandoned you. I will assume the position of God. I will take your everything from you, save you, as you asked.' Her muffled cries attack the air. 'This is my design.'  
'Will?' Sharply exiting his own mind with such a force, Will Graham fell to the ground. Jack rushed to pick him back up.  
'Are you okay?'  
'I-I'm fine.' he slurred, slowly getting to his feet. The whole crime scene seemed to fall silent.  
'What did you see?' there was a pause. Will looked Jack desperately in the eyes.  
'Too much.'


	3. Chapter 3

'It's quite amazing, that thing you do.'  
Unused to anything but criticism, Will softened slightly. To John, something he considered a curse was a gift, and not just so it could be used for his benefit.  
'Thank you. Sherlock's lucky to have you. I think you give him whatever stability he lacks.' Confused at someone seeing him as more than a sidekick, John paused. Will always saw himself as an underdog. It was nice to finally find another.  
'I hope you don't mind, but Jack said we could get a bit closer when you were...seeing. I heard everything you said. Do you...become the killer?' Explaining this to John seemed less exhausting than explaining it to anyone else.  
'In a manner of speaking. I can empathise with them, see how they would've seen. I guess it helps you find what you're looking for.'  
John nodded his head. They walked for a while longer, finally looping back round to where they started. However, when they reached the crucifix, there were a couple of uninvited guests.

'Kitty! What the hell are you doing here?' Will kept silent. A woman with plaited red hair and a business-like outfit approached them.  
'John. Glad to see you again.' she held out her hand for him to shake. He scowled at it, as if it were something rotten.  
'Freddie and I have been talking. We thought we might collaborate on this one.' Another woman with flaming red curls and much more casual attire stepped forward from the shadow of the crucifix. Will made no attempt to hidehis contempt. He hated Freddie Lounds, like he was sure John hated this Kitty.

'Bloody journalists!' John cried.  
'Who told you about this?' Will demanded, striding angry steps towards Freddie.  
' has no shortage of intel. We found this even before Jack Crawford did.' John looked back to Kitty, scrutinising her every breath.  
'So you've turned from ruining lives to crime journalism?'  
Will scoffed. 'Oh, believe me, they're one in the same thing.'  
'We just want to get proper coverage of this story.' she turned from John to Will. 'You're Will Graham.'  
'Acute observation, Miss...?'  
'Riley.'  
'Well, Miss Riley, I'm sure you appreciate that this is a very fresh issue and is not ready for publication just yet.' Kitty laughed.  
'Oh, Mr Graham. You don't think you can stop us, do you? Our readers want exclusives; they want the truth.'  
'Or your bloody warped version of it!' John shot angry glares between the journalists. Freddie stepped forward.  
'Doctor John Watson, is it?'  
He didn't respond.  
'We've all heard the Sherlock Holmes stories, but never really anything about you. I could help you tell your side.'  
'I don't need your help,' he spun to Kitty, a stiff finger pointing, 'or yours. Clear off.' Will knew he should have probably stopped John, but he enjoyed everything he said.  
Not another word uttered, and the journalists were gone.  
'I can't wait to see how they write that up.' Will sighed.  
'Me neither.' John cracked a smile, then laughed a little. It was infectious. Soon, Will was as well. Really, their laughter disguised something deeper. Now, newspapers and websites were the least of their worries.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock and Hannibal shuffled into one of the temporary buildings erected beside the crime scene. They heard the lock click behind them.

Sherlock's eyes hardened into a glare. Hannibal straightened his tie.  
'If this was the work of-'  
'Oh, I know you did it.' Caught completely off-guard, Hannibal stopped dead in the tracks he'd been making around the table. Upon his face were etched the lines of disbelief and utter stimulation. This was a man in whom he could find his equal.  
'In fact, you did all of them. You are the Chesapeake Ripper.' he says, a satisfied grin on his face. Guesses could only be made at how long he'd been waiting to reveal his secret.  
'How?' way past defence or deception, Hannibal took an interest in his methods. Surely it wasn't at first obvious to him? What was it Doctor Du Maurier had said? 'A very well-tailored person suit'...  
'Please!' Sherlock scoffed.  
'Tell me, was it easy?'  
Sherlock looked into his eyes. So unaffected, yet so electric. How this man was constructed, he may never know.  
'What do you think?'

'Couldn't say.' They were both enjoying this; slowly discovering that they were one in the same person.

'Will Graham trusts you almost whole-heartedly.'

'Almost?' a pang of worry flicked over his face. Hannibal understood that, if Sherlock knew, it meant far less than if Will did.  
'He isn't quite sure. That's how I started. It won't be long before he makes the leap.' he took a long, slow breath.'Have you been feeding them to him?'  
'I'm assured you already know the answer to that.'  
Sherlock leant back in his chair. 'Genteel.'  
Hannibal chuckled, 'Quite so.'


	5. Chapter 5

The collective forensics team were told to gather round the crucifix. Each party had been told they were to work with someone new at the scene, but neither knew who these someones would be.

Brian, Jimmy and Bev arrived first.  
'Yikes. This isn't how it looked at bible school.' Brian said, recoiling at the sight.  
'You went to bible school?' Jimmy asked, chucking slightly.  
'My mom-'  
'Guys!' Bev interrupted. 'Can we just get to how she died?' The pair, like an old married couple, decided they were as bad as each other and needed to get on with the job.

After a few minutes of unscrupulous examination, the someone new arrived.  
Anderson and Donovan stood before the crucifix. Technically, Donovan wasn't forensics, but she'd been told to keep away from Will Graham, thus keeping her away from where she was best suited. She took a step towards Bev, her arm outstretched. Though this was meant to be a friendly gesture, Bev could tell it was forced. She took her hand and shook it.

'Sally Donovan, Scotland Yard.'  
'Beverly Katz.' She didn't state her place of work; she found it pretentious.  
Donovan gestured to the two examining the body.  
'And these are-?'  
'Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price. And your partner?'  
Donovan laughed nervously.  
'We're not partners. I'm a Sergeant, he's forensics. I'm...stationed down here while Will and frea- Sherlock get acquainted.'  
Jimmy looked to Donovan.  
'So you're a troublemaker?'  
Donovan looked as though she'd been punched in the face.  
'No! I just-'  
'Leave her alone, Jimmy.' Beverly called. Anderson stepped forward. He glowered at her.  
'Where is the real forensics team? I'll need to consult with them immediately.' Bev, face dripping with disgust, pointed to the two clambering around the crucifix. She highly doubted that he hadn't heard every word she'd said to Sally; he was clearly going to be an issue.  
'What have you got so far?' he demanded, much louder than necessary.  
'Well, she was alive when she was being nailed to the cross, but she died from blood loss rather than the crucifixion itself.'  
'What, are you saying-'  
'Clearly,' Brian overstated, to irritate Anderson, 'incisions were made and major organs were removed, as with other Ripper murders. She died from those wounds.'  
'Oh.' Anderson said, livid at having been told everything he could've seen for himself. Donovan moved in.  
'Do you think we should tell Lestrade? He'll probably want to know.'  
Brian jumped down, landing rather ungracefully on his feet.  
'Done. We texted Jack about a half hour ago.' Unable to contain his anger, Anderson exploded.  
'Why didn't you wait for us?!'  
'Sorry, kid.' said Jimmy, also jumping down, 'If you're not first, you're last.' Offended and a little intimidated by their efficiency, Anderson skulked off with Donovan in tow.


	6. Chapter 6

'Will, Doctor Bloom just called. They're saying Abigail can leave now.' Will had been expecting the news for a long time. He just never though it would be so soon, when he was so unprepared.  
'And go where, Jack?' he said, not attempting to hide his anxiety. He would do anything in his power to protect Abigail Hobbs.  
Doctor Lecter stepped forward.  
'Can she stay with Doctor Bloom?'  
Jack shook his head.  
'Alana's out of town for a couple of days. They said they can keep her for longer if no-one can take her in.'  
'AND WHAT? Force her back into that hellhole when she KNOWS there's a chance of freedom? Do you know what that will do to her?' Will yelled, forgetting completely his position. Jack, while furious, could fully understand his outburst. After all, he had slowly started to see himself as her father.

'Will...'  
'Will's right. Abigail Hobbs needs to be out of the Facility.'  
'Abigail Hobbs has nowhere else to go.'  
Will looked around desperately.  
'There's gotta be somewhere.'  
'It can't be with you or Doctor Lecter. God knows what she could do if she was left alone for as long as I need you.' Suddenly, John started to rush towards them.

'Sorry, I don't mean to eavesdrop,' he spluttered, gasping for air, 'I just heard you need someone to babysit?'  
'In a way, yes...' Will said, not wishing to elaborate. Even with his liking of John, he doubted he could be of any use now.  
'Well, Sherlock's brother is taking a holiday this week. He could look after her until this Doctor Bloom gets back.'  
As though he'd just revealed himself to be a genie, Will stood gawping at John. If this was true, he was saved.  
'Mr Holmes?' he shouted to John's partner, brooding in the corner of the crime scene. He looked up at the sound of his name. He sighed heavily and began to approach the group. He disliked being disturbed when he was thinking.  
'Yes?'  
'Your brother-'  
'What about him?'  
'Would he be able to look after someone for a while? We'd pay him.'  
'Mycroft is not a child-minding service.'  
'Please.' Will begged. He was desperate. 'Please just ask him. She's 18, she could feed herself, it'd be like she wasn't even there.'  
'She's 18, for Christ sakes! I'm sure she could manage by herself!'  
Will swallowed, not trusting himself to burst out at Sherlock's ignorance. He began again.  
'She's just come out of a psychiatric facility. She's liable to become very unstable if we keep leaving her on her own. She's an orphan and the most she'll expect is someone to talk to. Please.'

Pity and sentiment didn't work of Sherlock Holmes, but a warning look from John made him rethink his answer.  
'I'll ask. I can't promise he'll say yes.'  
Will gasped in relief.  
'Thank you so much! You're a lifesaver.'  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see Hannibal's discreetly confident smirk. This was just the beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

Doctor Du Maurier approached the door to her front room. She had a consultation with a new patient booked for 12. It was 11:59.  
She opened the door to a small man, sprawled across one of the waiting room chairs. He immediately straightened up at the sight of her.

'Come on in.' He stumbled out of the chair and up to her door.  
'Thank you.' he said, crossing the threshold. 'I'm a friend of Hannibal's, he said you're the best.' Hiding her doubt that someone like Hannibal would befriend someone like this, Doctor Du Maurier directed the man to a white leather coach. She took the seat opposite.  
'So, tell me why you're here.' She studied this man. She couldn't see straight through him as she could with most others. The only person she could never see fully was Hannibal. Maybe they _were_ friends.

'It's...it's a friend of mine. I-I pushed him away and now I carry the burden of his death. I...' he stopped. So far, his act looked to be convincing her. He had to invent some sort of problem before he got down to his real business. He stifled tears as the doctor nodded understandingly.  
'So you feel it's your fault?'  
'Yes, it was. He trusted me and I...I let him fall.'  
'Were you having difficulties prior to his death?'  
He nodded, a sob escaping his quivering lips. It was his most convincing performance yet. He was proud. She handed him a tissue box. He snatched it shakily and blew his nose.  
'I just wish I could go back and tell him...'  
'What would you tell him?'  
'J-just that his best friend, Jim Moriarty, is sorry.'


	8. Chapter 8

'What's all this stuff?' Abigail Hobbs had just dropped off her suitcase in Mycroft's spare room, and was now fiddling with some equipment in the kitchen. A thorough understanding of molecule arrangement was not fundamental to his government position, but it was a hobby of his. A hobby he kept quite secret from Sherlock. He rushed over to her.

'I'd appreciate if you didn't touch anything.' he said condescendingly. He was not a children person.  
'What do you do?' Abigail asked, mostly out of absent-minded curiosity.  
'I...erm,' Mycroft started, wrenching a piece of equipment from her frail grip, 'I work for the British Government.'  
'My dad sometimes looked into oversea politics.' she said, leaving Mycroft stuck at what to say next. Whether she was making this up or not, he knew that they weren't to talk of Garett Jacob Hobbs. He knew she was trying to push his buttons and create some blame for him to have to assume. Good try, he thought, but not good enough.

'Doctor Bloom says you were at the Psychiatric Facility for a while. How long?'  
'2 or 3 months.'  
'And what was it like?' There was no pause before she answered.  
'Hell. Like everyone knew everything about me.'  
He could imagine. From what he'd heard, the Minnesota Shrike, who Britons had only heard whispers about, was plastered everywhere in the US, like cheap wallpaper.

'But Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, they helped you, yes?'  
She shrugged.  
'Will killed my father, but Will saved me. Hannibal gave me a place to go when I had nothing.' Mycroft considered this.  
'Have you had any trouble with the press?' she shook her head.  
'Not trouble. Freddie Lounds helped me tell my story.'  
'And you've worked with Alana Bloom?' She didn't nod. Instead, she sunk into the nearest chair.  
'She thinks everything comes from a textbook. She's so wrapped up in it, she doesn't see me changing for the better...or the worse.'  
'The worse?'  
She stood up again, with an urgency that Mycroft had not seen in her before. Maybe she had said too much.  
'You're not the average teenage girl, are you?'  
'Does the average teenage girl have a serial killer for a dad?' Abigail Hobbs, who had not previously shown much sign of emotion, burst into tears. Unsure of what to do next, Mycroft's hand hovered above her. Should he toussel her hair, maybe put a friendly arm around her? Suddenly, she grabbed him with both arms, her sobs muted in his jacket. Uncomfortably, Mycroft returned the hug.  
'I just can't do this.' He began to hug her properly. He stroked her hair with his thumb.  
'Shhh, it'll be okay. It'll be okay.'


	9. Chapter 9

'Jack! Thank you for stopping by!' Lestrade said, pulling out a chair for him to sit on. This he did more quickly than Lestrade expected. He had a sort of gripping urgency that was only ever apparent if you looked more closely.

'It's my pleasure. Anything for a new colleague.' he smiled, still assuming position of alpha-male. Lestrade, though not very competitive, knew himself to be in charge and would defend his title. He took a seat opposite Jack.

'I need to talk to you about Will Graham.' Jack's face sunk. He knew what was best for Will and that was that. If Doctor Lecter couldn't convince him otherwise, no-one could.

'Will Graham is under my protection. I have asked him on numerous occasions if he wanted to continue his work and he said yes. His being in the field is no cause for concern for anyone.' Let alone a jumped-up little shit like you, he thought. Lestrade sighed.

'I know you've talked to Hannibal about this and I know you said the same to him, but I'm sure we could get him some help here.' His mind cast back to Max and Claudette's after-care. He thought they'd never recover. He remembered feeling about them as he did about Will Graham. They got better. Any longer, and they wouldn't have. He didn't want Will to be broken beyond use.

'We have all the access to care that you do. We haven't sought it because he doesn't _need_ it.' Jack snapped.

'You already said he's contaminated crime scenes. He's losing time and hallucinating. If there's nothing wrong physically, you can't tell me the mental scars are ignorable. Especially if he's to carry on his field work. If he doesn't know how to repair his mind before he sees another case, you could lose him forever.' A stony silence fell upon the room. Jack had often thought about this, but he'd never given it any context, any flesh. Now, in that moment, he saw how close to breaking Will Graham was.

'I just know that we wouldn't be able to solve half the cases we do without Sherlock, and I'm sure it's the same with Will. They're one in a million, Jack. To lose him through fault of your own would be a pretty stupid thing to do.' he said, matter-of-factly. Jack frowned.

'And what about Sherlock? There's something wrong with him, but you choose to ignore it!'

Lestrade waved a flippant hand at him.

'What he does doesn't get to him. He may be...' he took a moment to select the right words, 'somewhat unusual, but it's not the work that makes him like that. Will, on the other hand, seems normal enough until he's been at the scene. Then he seems...edgy.'

'Edgy?'

Lestrade nodded. 'Dangerously so.'

Jack stood up with a force that felled the chair.

'I don't need a lecture about Will Graham.' he spat, and left before dinner.


	10. Chapter 10

Hannibal knew he should probably intervene. Will was spiralling out of control and, soon, he would be beyond everyone's comfort zones. God knows he was long past his own.

But he seemed so adamant that he could carry on. He was so convinced by his own lies that it had become impossible for him to admit defeat. There was nothing he could do. Or, rather, there was nothing he would do.

'Don't you have minds to be analysing?' a silky voice slipped through the crisp air.

'Not tonight.' Hannibal kept his answers breif. He wished for some kind of secrecy. It gave him a delicious sense of dominance, that he enjoyed far too much.

Sherlock stepped forwards to face him.

'Hello, Doctor Lecter.' Once again, he looked smug. He was like a child who had just learnt a naughty word.

'Mr Holmes.'

'A bit cold, isn't it?'

'I'm sure you won't feel it, that coat of yours.' he nodded towards Sherlock's coat with a snare of disapproval. He looked scandalised. Hannibal enjoyed toying with him so easily.

'So, what's going on with you and Will Graham?'

he asked, with a tone of condescention.

'He's a friend.' Hannibal replied, more unfazed by the question than Sherlock would have hoped. 'You and Doctor Watson?'

Sherlock sighed.

'Hardly original.'

'Then maybe there is an element of truth behind it...' he said, leaving him to react. React he did.

'John and I are partners! You and Will are not even that! Why won't you just admit it?'

Hannibal shrugged.

'Maybe your defensiveness is a symptom of keeping secrets for too long.' Sherlock looked as though he was going to launch into a tyrade. However, with a self-control that astounded Hannibal, he blinked hard and walked away. Doctor Lecter watched him disappear, till all that was left was the wispy clouds his breath had left. What fun it would be to have this man as competition.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed to life.

'Hello?' he said, answering it after a single ring.

'Hi, erm, this is John. John Watson.'

'Oh yes! Sherlock's associate?'

He coughed, 'Erm, yes.'

'And what can I do for you?'

'I...I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Sherlock about this.'

'About what?'

There was a pause.

'Hello?' Hannibal repeated

'Ever since...' he sounded as though he was choking on his tears, 'ever since Sherlock's...accident, I-I've been seeing a therapist.'

There was another pause. Hannibal thought he knew where this was going. His silence urged John to carry on.

'The event stirred up a lot of trauma and, now he's back, I still haven't really adjusted. I have weekly appointments, just to get myself back on track with everything.'

'But...?' Hannibal guessed there'd be a but involved.

'But today isn't my day to see her so she's busy with other patients.'

'What's special about today?' He heard John sigh a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.

'It's a year since the fall.'

He needn't say any more; it was clear this could be a danger night for poor John. Of course he'd heard about the story of his 'death'. Who hadn't?

'I have no patients scheduled for tonight. You're welcome to come over as soon as I get back. I trust you know where to go?' he asked.

'Yes, thank you. I checked on the Internet.' he realised how that sounded. 'Sorry. I wasn't pre-empting anyth-'

'There's no need to apologise.' Hannibal interrupted, sensing an awkwardness on the horizon. He disliked awkwardness. 'I hope to see you soon.'

'Yes, good, thanks. Good bye.' Hannibal chuckled as an empty tone rang out from his phone.


	11. Chapter 11

Moriarty had gone in for a second time that week to see Doctor Du Maurier. He had thought his performance was swallowed by the psychiatrist, though he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep her convinced.

His game was a difficult one to play. He needed to keep a damaged facade, but he still needed information on Lecter. Doctor-Patient Confidentiality only worked so far. He was expert at manipulation. He knew how to get her to reveal the smallest things, purely as conversation. He also knew how to magnify those things, and make them into something much, much more dangerous.

'James, please come in.' Moriarty stared right past the psychiatrist.

'Thank you, Doctor.' he wanted to seem little, unimportant, detatched. He doubted he could pull off neurosis or narcissism without revealing too much of his real self. He waddled into the room. Again, he took his seat opposite Doctor Du Maurier.

'So, how have you been in these last few days?' His eyes, in character, darted frantically about the room. He noticed a cleanliness that seemed obsessive compulsive. He quickly chose to abondon his diagnosis of his psychiatrist as he took a heavy breath to reply.

'Not good. I keep...' he brought a shaking hand to his forehead, 'I keep losing friends. I'm very over-protective since Sherlock. Maybe I've driven them away. Hannibal's ashamed of me. I can see it in his eyes. I suppose he never mentions me...'

He didn't mean it as a question; she would never have answered if he did.

'Has Hannibal said anything to make you assume this?' He took another breath.

'I don't know. He always treats me like...like a patient. He says we're friends in an unfriendly way. I just want to know how he regards me.'

The lies poured from his mouth like poetry from the lips of an angel. The truth was that he had never met Hannibal Lecter. Only through John's blog and Freddie Lounds' mediocre crime website had he seen or heard of him, but he was instantly intrigued. He favoured he could always tell a person's potential from a glance. A clever criminal's love at first sight.

Doctor Du Maurier's eyes flashed. There was a light of pity, as if revealing Hannibal never talked about him. Perhaps getting what he needed was going to be easier than he thought. He sighed helplessly.

'I know you can't talk about patients...but Will Graham isn't your patient, is he?' he already knew the answer.

'No, he isn't.' Assuming she wasn't about to elaborate, Moriarty started up again, his voice wavering.

'I...I heard about him on tattlecrime. I know he's working with Hannibal...but they say he's crazy. I-I don't want to put my friend in danger if there's a chance that Will Graham is-' he sniffed, 'unstable.'

Handing a box of tissues to her patient, Doctor Du Maurier considered his sudden interest. Was he obsessed with Hannibal? She knew how he had handled past obsessions, and it wasn't very well...

'I know very little of Will Graham. I know of his and Hannibal's relationship, but that is strictly-'

Moriarty sniffed, nodding.

'Confidential, I know. I just...I just wish I could warn him.'

The doctor sighed. She knew she had heard these stories every week for years, but something in his voice held genuine concern. More than anything, though, she felt a strong sense of sympathy that was more born out of respect than anything else. She knew what she was about to do was wrong but, now the idea was planted, she could not uproot it. She had no choice but to tell him all she could.

'Look, I shouldn't be saying this...' she snatched a glance outside as she leant over to pick up a notepad and pen. 'but if...you...go to...this address...' she said, her concentration darting between scrawling an address and speaking to her patient, 'you could find out what he's really like behind closed doors.' she said, tearing off the page and handing it to Moriarty.

Here's a man, she thought, who could do naught but hurt a fly. Even then he may have some trouble.

Moriarty took the paper and carefully folded it. He did not snatch it in a fit of haste, though he wanted to. He had to see out his act until the very end. A poor actor is one who breaks character before the final bows.

'And that's your hour.' she said, with a smile. Even she was excited about what he might dig up. Yes, Will Graham seemed a very interesting subject indeed.

'Thank you, Doctor. I'll see you next week.' he said, leaving.

'I'll count on it.' And with that, she closed the door.


	12. Chapter 12

There were so many things that Will Graham could not keep from his mind. The image of the body danced behind closed eyes; how could he have missed so much? He felt guilty that he had failed Mrs Leveson.

He knew the only way to alleviate his shame was to revisit her and think harder. The problem was that she had been taken to the mortuary on Sherlock's side, and he didn't entertain the idea of working with complete strangers. At least he'd gotten to know John and Sherlock a bit beforehand. However, with the imminence of time, he knew he had to visit the morgue. He caught a cab to St Bart's.

The night air whipped and whistled. Only the gentle hum of traffic trundling by in the distance disturbed the quiet. Will could have closed his eyes and felt as though he were at home. He kept alert as he approached the building. It was quite beautiful; the dull rock illuminated in the moonlight. Will pushed the front door. It was heavy, but still very much unlocked. He passed silently through corridors and up stairs. Finally, he had found what he was looking for. A sign overhead confirmed that this was the morgue.

Suddenly, the door swung open, blocked halfway by Will's body. The person who had opened the door looked as though she had seen a ghost. 'I am so sorry! I didn't know you were here or-' Will grabbed her shoulders. She tensed. Frightened that she might try to run, he relaxed his grip. She looked up at him.

'I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have told you I was coming. I will next time.' he told her softly. She was very beautiful. Her auburny hair shone under hallway lights, and her uncertain smile lit up her entire face. He couldn't help but smile back.

'W-who are you?' He released her, realising how stupid he had been.

'God, I am so sorry. I'm Will Graham, and I'm working on the Ripper Case with Sherlock Holmes.' Her eyes lit up when his name was mentioned. Will's heart sunk slightly.

'Of course. What do you need?' 'I'd like to take another look at the body, if that's okay.'

She smiled. 'Of course. I'll wheel her back out.' the fear has dissolved from her face. Now, her beauty radiated unignorably. Will looked away. 'Thank you.' he said, his back to her, scanning the night scene through a window. Suddenly, he realised something else. He spun around. 'I never asked your name.'

'It's Molly, Molly Hooper.' she said. Molly. Molly Hooper. Surely hers is a name he wouldn't forget.

He followed her in, noticing her scent for the first time. It was almost hypnotic, with a soft sweetness. He watched her as she rolled out the body of Mrs Leveson. It was strange to think someone so angelic could work somewhere so dark. Though, far from bothering him, Will admired Molly. It was as if she lead a double life.

'Here she is.' she said. Her flippancy reminded her of Brian and Jimmy. He supposed that's why they weren't all as crazy as him.

'Thanks.' he began to examine the body. Everything obvious distracted him from truly seeing her. He couldn't think of what he'd have missed, but it had to be something big, something important...

At that moment, his phone rang. Molly jumped slightly.

'Sorry. I should've turned it off.' he mumbled, as he reached into his pocket.

'Hello?' Molly watched his expression change from mild annoyance to genuine concern.

'What's wrong?' He looked almost unwilling to wait to hear the answer. As if, the moment he did, he would run straight to their rescue.

'I will be right there. If they come to your house, please keep them there.' He was desperate to leave. His body was almost shaking with impatience. 'Thank you. I'll be there soon.' he hung up. Molly looked at him, shocked. 'What's-'

'My dogs. Someone was firing near the house and they got scared. The guy next door says I left one of the doors unlocked.'

'Oh...' Molly was unsure of what to say. 'Sorry to hear it.' There was a moment of silence.

'Can I...?' he pointed to the door. Molly looked surprised that he'd asked her. Still, it felt nice to meet someone who respected her so much.

'Oh, of course! Go!' He headed for the door.

'Thank you. I might be back.'

'I hope so.' she said, without thinking. Usually, she'd apologise to try and take it all back. This time, a grin from Will Graham told her everything was great, and that he hoped so too. She watched him turn and leave into the blackness of the night.


	13. Chapter 13

'Thank you for this, Doctor. You're a life saver.' Hannibal closed the door behind him.

'You shouldn't assume these things so quickly, John.' Slightly taken aback by his one-shot psychiatrist's comment, John rocked on the threshold, unsure of whether or not to enter. Seeing his unease, Hannibal smiled welcomingly.

'I only mean that you shouldn't judge a book by his cover.' John didn't take the time to realise that Hannibal had essentially just repeated what he had said before. He had a friendly tone in his voice that reassured John. He stepped more comfortably into the flat.

'I just...I don't know what I'm feeling right now.'

'Tell me.' he gestured to the chairs, facing adjacently. They both took a seat, John first. He sighed.

'Well, I feel happy that he's back, of course...but I also feel...empty.'

'Why is that?'

'Because he left me, didn't he?' a tone built from suppressed anger and incomplete grief bubbled from John's mouth. It took him a minute to realise his rudeness.

'Sorry, Doctor. I really am.' Hannibal waved away his apology.

'There is no need to be, Doctor Watson. From what I see, Sherlock Holmes has put you through a very traumatic experience.' _Oops_, he giggled inwardly, _did I just insinuate that Sherlock is trying to destroy him? Did I just sow the seed of doubt? How thoughtless of me..._

'I-I don't blame him. He did what he had to to get away from Moriarty.' Steady now, Lecter. Don't insist upon your theory. Remember Gideon...remember Graham.

'Who is this Moriarty?' He knew, he just needed to hear it from John.

'He was Sherlock's...nemesis. Except he wasn't. Or maybe he was, Sherlock never spoke about him after...' The fall, yes. Hannibal knew his uncertainty meant John would be easy to drive, to condition. To turn him on his best friend would definitely be 1-0 to Hannibal. His games were childish, but dangerously so. His need to better Sherlock was more deadly than anyone could have guessed.

'And what do you believe?'

John shuffled in his seat.

'I'm not sure what I believe, honestly.' he paused. 'I've never really admitted that. I just think th-' On a table to John's right, an iPad suddenly buzzed to life. It was a single sound that echoed eerily around the cavernous room.

'I apologise, John. I sometimes forget to turn it off. Now, where were we?' Again, the iPad buzzed and, again, it was ignored. John took a breath to start again, but the sound rang out once more.

'I think they want you. Don't worry, I'll wait here.' The Doctor seemed shaken. John wondered if it was because his steely professionalism was in jeopardy; he could see no other reason.

'I am very sorry, John. This session is free, of course.' Normally, letting yourself be dictated by your gadgets was something Hannibal found horrifyingly rude. This time, though, he almost already knew it would be necessary. He walked to the table and picked up the iPad. The messages appeared in bars across the lock screen. He swiped the top one and began to read his messages.

First.

'Hello, darling. Nice to finally speak to you at last. I've heard wonderful things about you. It's so thrilling, isn't it?'

Second.

'Oh and, by the way, if you were thinking of ignoring me, I have a little something that might change your mind.'

Last.

The last was a picture message. Hannibal looked once, then began to squint. He tapped the picture and there, on the full size of the screen, was Will Graham. He was tied to a makeshift crucifix. He hadn't been nailed in. He was bound with yellow rope. Bewildered, enthralled and awfully excited, he reduced the photo with a single tap to the edge of the screen.

Beneath the picture, there was a final message.

'His place. Whenever you're ready. I'll wait for you, darling. JM x'


	14. Chapter 14

'And that's how I helped the President of Egypt find his trousers!' Mycroft laughed heartily. Abigail was in fits of giggles.

'You have some pretty good stories.'

He shrugged. 'What comes from years working in the British Government.' he considered her for a moment. 'What do you want to be when you're older?'

'I wanna work for the FBI.'

'You definitely have the aptitude. You're very bright, Abigail.' She looked at him through genuinely touched eyes.

'You really mean that?'

'Of course I do! I'll leave the lying to the politicians. Which reminds me...one time, I hir-'

Fascinated by his stories and still glowing from his praise, Abigail tried to ignore the phone ringing. Mycroft, though, it had put off completely. He rushed to answer the phone, uttering a quick 'sorry' in his guest's direction.

She supposed it was what came from his 'minor' position. He probably answered a lot of calls quite quickly. She tried to listen in to the conversation.

'What, where?...Is Jack with you?...Then where the Hell is Sherlock?...Who was he with?...Did he say anything to him?... No, of course... Can Abigail come then?...I suppose so too. Goodbye Lestrade.'

He put the phone down and let his head sink into his hands. Abigail approached him.

'What's up?'

'Sherlock's enemy has come back.' Silence.

'B-but I thought Moriarty was...was dead.'

He took his hands away and stared; his confusion boring into her like a flaming dart.

'Everyone knows the story of Sherlock Holmes.' she said, eager to skip her explanations and get down to his.

'Well...we _all_ thought he was dead. Apparently, he was not. He's got-' he snapped out of his absent-minded repeating of the message. He couldn't tell her that Will Graham's life was in danger, or that Hannibal could be another of Moriarty's victims.

'What has he got, Mycroft?' she read his sorry eyes like a book. '_Who_ has he got?'

No reply.

'WHO HAS HE GOT?' she screamed, tears threatening to engulf her voice.

'Abigail, you need to come with me.'


	15. Chapter 15

'Ah, Doctor Lecter.' James Moriarty spun on the heels of his designer shoes. 'What a pleasure to finally meet you at last.' Hannibal took a step towards him.

'The pleasure's all mine. Where's Will Graham?'

Moriarty shook his head.

'No, no, no. Not yet.' He wanted to keep his distance. He knew his meagre height didn't affect his genius, but he didn't like feeling small all the same. 'We've haven't even got to know each other. I'd call that rude, my dear.'

'You have no idea.' his tone, Jim noted, was overpowered by a certain something. Whether it was excitement, impatience or fear, he could not quite tell.

'I'll start, shall I? Hello, my name is Jim Moriarty. I was the mortal enemy of Sherlock Holmes, buuuuut...' with a smirk, he looked Hannibal in the eyes, 'he got boring.'

'Boring?'

'YES! Bland, dull, stale, tedious, BORING!' he yelled. He took a breath through his nose and straightened his tie. 'Doesn't matter anymore, because I have you. I have your little friend as well.'

'Where is he?'

'Blimey! Someone's a bit touchy! I would have thought getting to you would have been harder than Sherlock. Turns out you put your weakness in your pet too.'

There was a silence. Moriarty couldn't tell how it was meant to read it, so he continued.

'But Will Graham isn't one of the ordinary people, is he? Because he's a genius, really, but he still lacks a certain...'

'Natural light?' Hannibal suggested. He could search for Will after a little chat, maybe it would give him a better chance of distraction. Plus, he was enjoying this. Moriarty nodded.

'Yes, he's the star to your Sun.'

'Please.'

'No. You are incredible. Even before I saw you, I knew you. I knew who you were.' Hannibal squinted at him.

'Oh, come on! I deal with every type of criminal, day in, day out. You think I wouldn't spot a cannibal?' he laughed. 'But you're brilliant, aren't you?'

'Well-'

'No, you are. Because, how many people must you have fooled? Let's see, erm...Will darling, obviously. Jack Crawford, Freddie Lounds, my dear John, Gregory Lestrade too, I suppose. Well, he hasn't had you in handcuffs yet. I might.'

'Tempting, but I-'

'Oh, and your lovely psychiatrist. She is lovely, isn't she? Darling Bedelia...not enough natural light though, as you put it. But I assume sherlock knows.'

'Of course he knows.'

Moriarty chuckled.

'That's my boy.' He skipped up the stairs leading to Will's door.

'Anyway, I think we should get down to the proper business. I wish to destroy you and I pressume you would very much like to serve me with a fruit sauce.'

'Ooh no, Mr Moriarty.' he walked towards him. 'I was thinking something more savoury.'

'Well, I _think_ I might just have the upperhand there.' He, with a theatricality practiced performers seldom achieve, pulled open the door to reveal his 'upperhand'.

The photo Moriarty had sent was revealed to Hannibal in the flesh. There, tied to a crucifix, was a red-faced and struggling Will Graham. He tried to cry out.

'Shh, shh, shh. I know you heard it all. I know, I know. It's okay, he wasn't going to eat you. He was just going to kill lots of people and make it look like it was you. But I've got him now. You're safe.' He said, stroking Graham's face. He flinched and continued trying to break free.

'Well, as safe as he lets you be.' He brought out a knife from his pocket. It's blade gleamed in the sunlight.

'Mr Moriarty, I would hate to have to kill you.'

'I would hate that too.' he moved his hand from Will's face to his neck. He tightened his grip as he turned to look at him.

'But I wouldn't mind killing him and then killing you.' he looked back over to Hannibal. He was coming closer.

'One more step, Doctor, and I'll slit his throat.'

'You might want to rethink that, James.' a voice called through a megaphone behind them. Hannibal turned to look. There, in the glow of the police car lights, stood Jack Crawford and Greg Lestrade.


	16. Chapter 16

'Oh, Lestrade. What a pleasant surprise.' Moriarty said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as obviously as he could manage. Lestrade unholstered his gun.

'Drop the knife.' Moriarty smiled, and held the knife to Will's neck.

Will's mind filled with scenes of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. How he'd rushed in with a gun, how he saw Abigail's throat being cut. It was heart-breakingly similar now, and all the he wanted was to start again. Wipe every inch of the slate clean and try from ther beginning. The beginning when the man he'd trusted with his life wasn't trying to break him, when he didn't feel crazy, when he'd never met Jack Crawford. In a fleeting moment, he thought of Molly. He'd never get to go back and see her. There was so much good to look forward to, but there was so much more that wasn't worth living through.

'Do it!' he wasn't sure his muffled screams could be heard.

Just behind them, Abigail and Mycroft had just arrived. Abigail, seeing the scene, broke into a desperate run, but was pulled back. She screamed at thin air. Mycroft tried to comfort her,

'Look what you've done, Jack. Oh dear, maybe you should help him. You're doing an awful job so far.' Jack stepped forward, gun in hand.

'Moriarty, drop the knife or I will kill you.'

'Now, now, Jack. Brute strength isn't the way to get what you want. Have you tried just talking things through?' With a pull of the trigger, a bullet flew towards Moriarty. With naturally brilliant reflexes, he dodged the bullet and it sailed into the house through the open door. The knife lay on the floor.

Offended, Moriarty brushed his lapels.

'Wow. Someone's a bit trigger-happy!' Jack raised his gun again, but Moriarty signalled offhandedly for him to stop. 'Don't waste your bullets.'

Taking a different approach, Lestrade approached Hannibal and slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

'Hannibal Lecter, I'm arresting you on suspicion of several counts of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on it court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.' Free to escape from Mycroft's relaxed grip, Abigail rushed to Hannibal. She put her hands on his.

'No. Hannibal, don't go. No!' she felt fingertips like razor blades all over her. She was being dragged away. 'NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM! HANNIBAL, PLEASE!'

Unresisting, Hannibal stood listening to everything around him. He was going to put up a fight but decided against it. They'd commit him to a psychiatric prison and he'd spend the rest of his life confined to a box. Unless-

The pair looked over at Jack, Will and Moriarty. Jack, holding Moriarty, turned to Lestrade.

'We need back-up. Call Baltimore. Hell, call Scotland Yard.' Lestrade nodded.

'Do you have the phone?' Jack felt his pockets.

'Yeah, come up here.' He dragged Hannibal across the garden and up the stairs to the porch. Jack and Lestrade made the mistake of turning their backs.

'So, if you-' A sudden gust of mist caused the two to start spluttering. Soon, they were stumbling into each other, screaming. Trying to fight it, they attempted to grab the criminals. They failed. Moriarty laughed. Hannibal, shocked but relieved, leant back slightly.

'What was that?'

'H.O.U.N.D.' he laughed, 'It's top secret. Well, it was until John blogged about it. Silly of him, really. Now let's go.'

'Just go?'

'Well, yes. Going to prison would seriously damage my social life. And you know they don't serve gourmet human at mental asylums.' he pointed at Hannibal's bound wrists. 'I know people who can take care of that, but I think they suit you. You can wear them to repay me for our escape.'

'You won't escape.' Jack said, half-conciously clawing at the air before Moriarty.

'Oh, shut up Jack.' He hit Jack on the head with the can he'd used to subdue him. He recoiled.

'Come on, Doctor Lecter.' They began to leave. They'd have to hide in the woods for a while, until Moriarty could arrange something. Hannibal looked over to the bottom of the garden. Mycroft and Abigail were stood together. Though there had been screams, Mycroft had tried to distract her. He knew things she shouldn't see were happening, he just had no idea what. He wouldn't risk it either way. He held her by the shoulders so he could speak to her directly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hannibal fleeing into the woods. She turned her head slightly, so Mycroft would not notice. With what she could have sworn were tears in his eyes, he waved to her. She looked back to Mycroft, with a big smile on her face.

'Are you okay? What's wrong?'

'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

'Mycroft!' Lestrade called, as if intoxicated.

'Gregory? What on Earth are you-?'

'Gone!' Mycroft gently patted Abigail on her shoulder, indicating she should stay where she was. He went to meet Lestrade as he stumbled down the stairs.

'You LOST Hannibal Lecter and James Moriarty? YOU LOST THEM?' Lestrade fell into Mycorft's arms and nodded, like a sorry child.

'You're in no state to go after them. Oh God. I'll call-'

'Sherlock?' a voice called out from behind them. Everybody, drugged or not, turned to look. Jack almost fell down the stairs. There, at the bottom of the garden, stood Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.

'I take it you lost them?'

Mycroft gestured angrily at his brother to go after the pair.

'Come along, John!' he said, breaking into a run. His coat fluttered behind him as John sighed. He started to jog and, eventually, disappeared into the woods with Sherlock.


	17. Epilogue

Will Graham sipped at his cup of coffee. He had waited too long for it to cool and, now, it was only just lukewarm. He had been busy thinking. It was exactly three years since Hannibal and Moriarty's escape. They never heard from them since; they were never found.

Everyone was doing okay, though. Mycroft had managed to adopt Abigail Hobbs. They lived together, solving or exacerbating the world's problems one at a time. She was apparently really interested in politics, and wanted to run for a post some time in the near future.

Jack and Lestrade had set up a private investigation squad together. Because of their reputation, they got a lot of business. It was slow to start with, thanks to Freddie Lounds and Kitty Riley publishing the story of the great escape. It did pick up, though, and they'd found all sorts of wonderful people to help them with investigations. Sherlock and Will were still drafted in most of the time. They were considered the elite members of the squad.

After all this time, Will had never really come to terms with what Hannibal had done. There was no easy way to recover from something like that. He doubted he ever would, but it didn't matter anymore. There was something in his life that made it easier to forget...

'Morning, hotlips.' Molly giggled as Will wrapped his arms round her waist.

'Morning.' he kissed her gingerly on the cheek, and she returned with a quick peck on the lips. It wasn't long before they'd leant into a much more fiery embrace. Molly pulled away first, keeping her forehead next to his. His breath danced on her face.

'I love you.' she whispered, smiling.

'I love you too.' Gently, he rested a hand on her stomach. 'And I love him.'

Molly pulled back completely, grinning.

'It might be a her!' Will smiled back.

'What should we call him...or her?'

Molly sat back on the bed.

'Ooh, good question.' Will sat beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

'I like Willy for a boy.' Molly moved her head to look at him in disbelief.

'Willy?' she laughed.

'Why not?'

'I am not letting you call our child Willy!' she picked up a pillow and hit him lightly on the side.

'What was that for?' he asked, his offended tone breaking under his chuckles.

'For being an idiot!' she hit him again. This time, he picked up a pillow and hit her back. Soon, they were rolling everywhere, laughing hysterically. They collapsed together, breathlessly.

Molly reached out for Will's hand. He held it.

'Lie here with me today.' he kissed her knuckles.

'Everyday. Forever.'


End file.
